Rebel with a Cause Read online

  "Why, that was no threat, Miss Devlin." He sucked in a draw of his cigarette and blew it straight at Missy's face. "Just a bit of friendly conversation."

  With a smile as genuine as the watered-down whiskey he sold in the wee hours, he turned and stomped off to his office, giving the door a solid slam.

  Mindy spun about in a purple flash and skipped across the room to where Night Lilly waited to receive the latest gossip. Night Lilly ran up the stairs to whisper in the ear of Miss Laime Down who gaped at Missy with nothing less than astonishment.

  Evidently, there were some things that could not be left behind in Boston. Causing a stir would be at the top of that list. Missy had a sinking feeling that this evening would find her in as much hot water as the time at Mrs. Charles Henson's tea for young ladies when she and Suzie had stripped to their bloomers and climbed up the great oak tree along with the stable boys. A dare was a dare, after all, and the boys had called them prissy girls.

  Missy sighed. What could not be helped could not be helped. She hoped that Pete the worm would stay in his office until the performance was over, and she could leave quietly with Moe and never come back.

  Fifteen minutes later Missy's audience began to arrive. There must have been something about the classical melodies she played that transformed the men. As soon as they strode through the door, rowdy cowboys became gentlemen. They greeted each other with friendly nods and Missy with respectful tips of their hats. A few of them even bowed over her hand.

  One by one they took their seats, removed their headwear and folded their hands in their laps. She had rarely come across a more appreciative audience, even in the fancy drawing rooms of Boston.

  "Gentlemen." Missy stood up after the first piece of music concluded. She clasped her hands in front of her. "As some of you know, our friend, Harriet, passed to her Maker earlier today."

  Many of the men nodded in sadness, having already heard, but others gasped, sorry at the bitter news.

  "But in an act of true generosity, your host, Pete, has offered to give all of tonight's profits for her burial." Public pressure should ensure that he lived up to his agreement.

  Pete, standing on the balcony and gazing down, lifted his hands in a show of modesty when the group cheered.

  "It's the least I can do for one of our own." His gracious smile might have fooled some, but Laime Down, Night Lilly and Mindy Nightrose, standing on ascending stairs and looking like a bouquet of bright flowers, rolled their eyes heavenward.

  "The next piece is called 'Clair de lune,' played in honor of Harriet," Missy announced.

  Except for an occasional sniffle or honk into a bandana the room grew silent. Many of the men covered their hearts with weatherworn hats.

  Let Pete try to wiggle out of the agreement now!

  Missy settled in to the music. It was gentle, tender, and she noticed the clatter when several sets of boots walked through the door. They didn't take seats, but stood beside the bar, even though Pete did not serve drinks during her performance.

  One of the men coughed. Another banged on the bar for the bartender to give him a drink.

  "Gimme one, too, Mitch." A third cowboy said out loud, flicking his hat against his thigh and setting off a cloud of dust.

  Missy's audience craned their necks. Harsh frowns warning the men to silence crossed more than a few trail-hardened faces.

  Mitch glanced from Pete to the cowboys to Missy's audience.

  Pete nodded his head. The smirk at the corner of his mouth all but shouted that he had planned this disruption.

  If Pete wanted to stir things up, the gentle "Clair de lune" was far from the only piece of music that she knew.

  Missy turned to her gentlemen with a smile and a wink. She attacked the keyboard with Orpheus in the Underworld. Mother had never liked it when Missy played Offenbach's wild and wonderful music, but to Missy it was pure energy and joy. Her fingers might be flying over the keyboard, but in her mind, she and Suzie were on a stage tossing their brightly colored skirts over their heads and kicking their legs high in the scandalous Can Can.

  Behind her the men leaped from their chairs with hoots and applause. Until now, everything she played had been sweet and inspiring, lifting the listeners up out of the drudgery of their daily lives.

  She glanced at Pete up on the balcony and grinned. His gaze shot red fury at her. His hired men tried to create a noisy distraction, but her piano was louder and her gentlemen more boisterous. Even Muff sat up in his little bed and howled.

  Later tonight, when she wrote this all down, every word would be delicious.

  * * *

  It was true, what the cowboys had said. Missy could pleasure every man at once, but not, praise the heavens, in the way he had assumed.

  Three days of hard, fast travel had brought him to the doorway of Pete's, primed and ready to do battle. He wasn't sure why he should feel responsible for the woman. She was not his sister...not his intended, not his in any way.

  His or not, when he'd learned that she was working for Pete, his heart tripped over itself. He'd bounded up from the cozy campfire, mounted Ace and stopped only to let the horse rest. Until he rushed up the front steps of the Palace, he hadn't taken an easy breath.

  He leaned against the back wall away from the lamp, hidden in shadow. Listening, he became enchanted, like the other ninety or more men sitting respectfully with their hats off.

  Patrons of Pete's sitting in mannerly fashion, like gentlemen, was a sight he'd never expected to see. The cowboys at the bar, getting frowns and hisses, were more the nightly fare.

  Throughout the piece, Missy had seemed lost to the room. Caught up in her playing she looked like an angel in satin and feathers. Even with the disruptive cowboys, she hadn't missed a note in the tune.

  Now, with the ruckus becoming intrusive, her fingers stilled over the piano keys. She glanced up at Pete with a sugary smile. The man didn't know to run for cover.

  She turned toward her audience with a wink. All at once she became a flame. He could have sworn that sparks glinted from her dress and those feathers breathing against her skin had turned to fire. The fire flew to her fingertips and out came a sound to turn the house upside down.

  The audience leaped up, they slapped their thighs, they hooted, they drowned out the noisy patrons at the bar.

  Zane scooted along the wall so that he could get a look at Missy's face. Again, she became caught up in the music. No angel this time, but a firebrand consuming every heart and making two hundred feet tap and stomp.

  On the stairs, Pete's girls flicked their skirts back and forth. Six knees flirted in abandon and long-forgotten joy.

  From his perch on the balcony, Pete grinned, but the expression lay on his face as sincere as a brick.

  A man leaning against the bar, the one who had demanded a drink, exchanged a glance with Pete. At the saloon owner's nod, he made his way toward the piano.

  Missy did not seem to be aware of his approach. She was somewhere with her music, caught up in a world a lifetime away from Pete's Palace.

  The cowboy knelt down to Muff and flicked his finger at a small black feather tied in his fur. Muff tried to nip the intrusive digit but caught a mouthful of air. The man plucked him out of his bed and tucked him under his arm. He darted across the room then pounded up the stairs two at a time. He handed the pup over to Pete without Missy even noticing.

  Pete stroked Muff's head. To anyone who didn't know better, they'd think the man had a fondness for the little beast.

  Zane took a step toward the stairs. Missy stopped playing. She stood, wriggled her fingers then turned to curtsey to her wildly applauding audience.

  "Thank you, Miss Devlin!" Pete shouted to be heard above the roar. "Listen up for a minute! You all are going to be pleased to know that the lady has agreed to stay on indefinitely."

  This would never happen on Zane's watch, no matter what Missy had promised. A quiet voice in his brain reminded him that he had no watch over her. But damn, the
woman was an innocent. Someone had to take on the job.

  "Pete, you snake!" Mindy Nightrose yelled up the stairs, waving a fist at him. "She quit!"

  Pete turned a cold glare on the woman, one that should have made her shrink into herself. Amazingly, Night Lilly and Laime Down flanked Mindy, joining forces with arms linked.

  "She quits!" they affirmed.

  "Is that right, Miss Devlin?" Pete circled his fingers around Muff's neck, pretending to scratch the little throat. "Do you quit?"

  Missy's face flushed the same color as the little hat pinned to her hair. She curled her fists and took a step toward the stairs. Within a heartbeat, four of the cowboys lounging at the bar had taken a position three steps up to block her way.

  In other circumstances, Missy could probably have charmed the men out of her way, but the mood inside the Palace was turning ugly.

  "I told you that earlier." Anticipation silenced angry murmurs from the door to the balcony. Heads swiveled from Missy to Pete. "I quit!"

  "We all quit!" Laime Down echoed.

  Most nights, Zane wouldn't care to take on the four mean cusses standing on the stairs. Tonight was not one of those nights. He rushed forward but his way became blocked by a dozen men who had heard the call to a fight.

  A tossed chair hit the mirror over the bar. Glass shattered, men roared, Missy looked like a red dot in the crush of flying fists. The feathered hat dangled from her head by a single pin.

  Zane turned away from the stairs, trying to get to her before she was trampled. He pushed a man in a plaid shirt out of his way. He stepped over one lying belly-up on the ground. He punched a rock-hard jaw that refused to let him pass. He watched the red dot pick her way toward the alcove.

  On the stairs, the doves kicked the cowboys in their posteriors and sent them slugging and kicking into the blows of the men at the bottom.

  From a slit in one bruised and swelling eye, Zane watched Missy pull a table from the alcove. He knocked aside a wicked-looking swing from a bony fist. Missy lifted a chair and stacked it on top of the table.

  A blow connected to his middle and knocked the wind from him. Hell! He must be hallucinating. It looked as if Missy was climbing the furniture like it was some sort of a damned tree.

  She clutched her fingers around the banister. Her flame of a skirt rippled under her kicking legs. It swayed like a bell when she swung one delicate boot up to the balcony floor and wedged it between a pair of spindles.

  He shoved three men out of his way and only made a five-foot gain toward the balcony.

  "Missy!" He doubted that his shout would carry over the rumble, but just as she levered her weight over the banister she looked toward his shout.

  Her mouth dropped open in a surprised circle. Her hair, which a moment before had been a neat arrangement of curls peeking from her hat, sagged in a tangle of knots and pins. The feathers on her dress floated in time with her quick breathing.

  Zane jumped over a ruined chair. He heard bottles shattering against the bar. The air smelled like beer and whiskey.

  Looking as angry as a swatted hornet, Missy rushed Pete. He stumbled back in surprise. She leaped onto his back and clamped her slender arms around his neck. Without letting go of the dog, he could do nothing but spin to dislodge her.

  Hanging on, Missy looked like a blaze whirling in the donnybrook.

  Zane punched the last belly blocking his way. He stood below the balcony watching Missy and Pete in their dangerous dance.

  Pete half stumbled, apparently shocked when Muff latched onto his hand with small but effective teeth. He stiffened his arm trying to shake the animal off.

  After a heroic moment the dog let go of Pete's hand and plunked on the floor. Missy delivered a blow to Pete's ear then hopped off his back.

  "Come, Muff, come!" Zane heard Missy call.

  The dog ran toward the battle on the stairs. Missy chased him and swept him up only a heartbeat before he got stepped on. Backing away from the stairs thick with lunging bodies and flailing arms, she inched along the banister. She did manage to put some distance between herself and the hostilities.

  What she didn't see was Pete blocking her retreat. His teeth ground together. His hands clenched into white-fisted balls. Zane had no doubt the man would kill her given the chance.

  "Watch out behind!" Zane shouted through an aching jaw. Pete rushed forward, one arm swinging. The imprint of ladylike fingers blistered his cheek. "Jump!"

  Zane braced his arms, wide and ready. His heart tripped over itself when Missy spent a precious second turning to scowl at her attacker.

  In a swish of lace, she lifted her legs over the banister. She leaned forward, one hand around Muff and the other grabbing the rail. Pete scrambled for her fingers and she let go, falling like an autumn leaf into Zane's arms.

  She wasn't heavy and his guts were pumped. He dashed for the door where Ace waited, tied to the hitching post.

  "Put me down!" She squirmed and twisted in his arms. "I've got to go back for my manuscript."

  A bottle whooshed past his head and shattered on the door frame. He heard wood splintering to his right.

  "Darlin'," he whispered heavily in her ear, "not a chance in hell of that."

  "Oh," she said and became suddenly still.

  He stepped over half a chair sliding across the floor.

  Out on the boardwalk, cool air bathed his battle-hot body. He lifted Missy and Muff onto Ace's back and leaped up behind.

  Ace didn't need any urging. He bolted down Ballico Street, galloping past patrons spilling out of neighboring saloons to join in the ruckus at Pete's.

  When things cooled off there wouldn't be much left of the Palace. Come dawn, Pete would be a man out of business and a good thing, too, by Zane's way of thinking.

  The problem was, he'd be a dangerous man with a big grudge against a little lady.

  Chapter Seven

  "A deal is a deal," Missy said, staring at the blob on the ground while Muff sniffed it.

  A bargain made was a bargain kept. She gazed across the sweep of land brushed golden by the sunset, watching Zane mount his horse. Confidence marked his posture. His large tan hands held the horse's reins with years of familiarity. He was certain to keep his end of the bargain that she wished she had not agreed to.

  Muff scratched at the brown mound, sneezing over bits of dried grass poking out from it.

  At first consideration, gathering the fuel for a fire had seemed a better choice than hunting up dinner. Finding a cook on the plains with a warm meal prepared would be as impossible as pressing her knees together.

  After a night and a day in the saddle her legs seemed to be as bowed as a scurvy-plagued sailor's.

  When Zane had presented the deal to her she had jumped at the chance to gather wood. A splinter or two didn't seem a high price to pay for a warm meal.

  If only it was a splinter ready to pierce her skin! She kicked at the cake-sized thing on the ground and set up a cloud of dust that made Muff bark and leap at it.

  In the many novels that she had read on the wild and wonderful West she couldn't recall a single mention of a buffalo chip. Zane had not bothered to hide his mirth when he explained that the dried excrement of a buffalo made excellent fuel for a fire.

  "It burns quick and true," he had stated, with a rare smile that charmed the sense out of her. "So you'll need to gather a lot of it."

  If he hadn't turned toward his horse at that very moment and broken the spell, he could have suggested that prairie dogs barked hymns and she'd have believed him.

  Now, with the setting sun casting the long moving shadow of horse and man across the earth, the time had come to live up to her end of the agreement. Full night would fall fast and hard. She didn't want to face the darkness without a fire.

  "Adversity holds the seeds of adventure," she mumbled, but for an instant the saying didn't ring true. "What other kinds of seeds might be in this chip? Muff...no, don't eat that!"

  She shooed the dog away the
n tested the edge of the dung with her finger. It was drier than she expected and it didn't smell. With a pinch of her thumb and forefinger she lifted it and carried it to the spot near the creek where Zane had indicated they would set up camp for the night.

  Three times she carried buffalo chips from their point of deposit to the campsite with the tips of her fingers. At this rate it would be dawn before she had enough chips for a decent fire.

  If she used her skirt for a scoop, she would be done in no time at all. Gathers of satin caught a lingering ray of sunshine and shot back flickers of red and gold. What a crime to use the fabric to cart buffalo dung. Back home, the punishment would be severe.

  A coyote's howl carried across the dimming land. From somewhere nearby another answered. The fur on Muff's back stood straight up. Missy filled her skirt with the big oval chips.

  "Come, Muff, come," Missy ordered and hurried toward the stream.

  The dog stood still with his nose sniffing the wind and his ears cocked toward the calling of the coyotes.

  Missy dropped her load then hurried back to gather another bunch of chips. With her skirt filled once more, she lifted Muff and set him on top of the dirty collection.

  Was it her imagination that the nearby howl had come closer? Perhaps a mere dash and a leap away?

  * * *

  "Well, I'll be hanged." Zane peered at the campsite from a hundred feet away. A fair-sized fire snapped at the edges of a pitch-black night. "She did it."

  He hadn't expected that. Even some prairie-hardened women balked at the task of collecting buffalo piles. Missy Lenore Devlin was a woman of constant surprise.

  With the evening so deep, he didn't believe she was aware of his presence. But he was aware of her. His heart tightened, his breathing cramped as he watched the champion of the campsite battling the perils of the night with her blaze.

  Firelight shadowed fine lines at the corners of her eyes while she gazed past the circle of light. She seemed uneasy. A shiver rolled over her bare arms. It didn't take much to imagine the chilly bumps that she tried to rub away with a brisk rub of her palms. He ought to have stopped at Maybelle's on the mad dash out of town to get her some kind of a wrap, but his only concern had been to get her as far from Pete as possible.